


Day 5: Windblade & Chromia

by GemmaRose



Series: Lost Light Fest 2019 [5]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/F, Fade to Black, Forbidden Love, Kissing, Makeup, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 08:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Cityspeakers are meant to devote their lives to the Titan they serve, to act solely in the Titan's interests. Windblade has never been the best at that.





	Day 5: Windblade & Chromia

Chromia both loved and hated when Windblade was sent on diplomatic assignments. As a cityspeaker it was her duty to represent Caminus’s interests, and Windblade was always at her most radiant when she was doing Caminus’s bidding. But proper diplomatic assignments meant travelling with an _entourage_. At least one other cityspeaker and their personal guard, a few more general guards, maybe an ambassador if they needed someone with specialised training and knowledge. Put together with the fact that the most fuel-efficient way to move all these mechs was on a small, wind-powered tallship... yeah, not her favourite. At least she didn’t get seasick, unlike poor Paradox.

“We’re almost there.” Windblade said, her voice smooth and subglyphs utterly devoid of emotion, but Chromia knew her cityspeaker better than anyone, knew the little flutter of her wings and the twitch of her fingers meant she was eager to be off this cramped little ship and in the air over dry land.

“We’ll be expected to attend their welcoming ceremonies before anything else.” she reminded Windblade, and smirked ever so slightly at the way her cityspeaker’s mouth curled down in what would’ve been a pout were they in private. “Afterwards, though.” she slid her field along Windblade’s letting her cityspeaker feel a flicker of warmth in it. Indecipherable to anyone else, but perfectly legible to Windblade as lust. Windblade’s wind flicked up for a nano-klik, just by a few degrees, and Chromia bit back a smile. Tonight would be a good one.

“It’s been some time since I last came to Tarn.” Windblade mused, crossing her arms on the rail. Chromia tilted her helm slightly, letting Windblade read the question in her field. “It’s why I was chosen.” Windblade clarified. “My sire was an ambassador, and she brought me with when she came to broker our last trade deal with Tarn.” her hand lifted to her face, fingers idly tracing the cityspeaker marks inlaid under her optics. “The Mistress of Flame thinks the Prince and King may remember me.”

“And even if they don’t, you can use that to your advantage.” Chromia smiled.

“_Our_ advantage.” Windblade corrected, pushing away from the rail. “I act in the interest of Caminus.”

“Of course.” Chromia inclined her helm. Cityspeakers lived as extensions of their great Titan’s will, devoted spark processor and frame to the service of their Titan and the prosperity of his people. Or at least they were _supposed_ to. Windblade had never been good at giving things up, and Chromia was grateful every mega-cycle for it. She’d worried, when Windblade came home to their little flat with the engraved marks on her face still fresh and sensitive, that she would lose the femme who’d so thoroughly stolen her spark. But as Windblade’s training progressed she’d turned to Chromia more and more, fingers sinking into her like claws between armour plates, a desperate grip on the last thing in her life which was normal.

Chromia smirked as she followed Windblade down into the bunkroom, where the other cityspeaker and their apprentice were already donning the finery all three would wear for the arrival and reception party. Nobody threw a party quite like the Tarnian Kingdom, though she’d heard the wildest festivities were found in their next most major city after the capitol. Not that she’d ever been, or had any desire to. As Windblade’s personal guard engex was something she was forbidden, not that it stopped Windblade from sharing a cube or two when they were alone.

Windblade technically needed no help with her finery for tonight, it was simple and her hands steady, but Chromia enjoyed the chance to be close to her cityspeaker and Windblade never looked more at peace outside of recharge than when she was sitting still for Chromia to remove the Caminus Red inlays from her cheeks and replace them with gold ones. She made the most adorable faces too, when Chromia brought the paintbrush up with shimmering gold and Caminus Red and void black paints, each new colour enhancing her already beautiful features until Chromia could see how the masses thought cityspeakers to be something _more_ than cybertronian. Something that bordered on divine.

“Just the jewellery left.” she said as she lifted the rotor-caps, and Windblade’s face scrunched in naked disgust. Chromia sympathised, she hated getting her hubcaps changed and those weren’t half as sensitive as a VTOL’s rotors. The caps at least affixed quickly, Chromia well used to both putting them on and taking them off, and when Chromia stepped back Windblade finally opened her optics.

“You’re removing these as soon as we reach whatever quarters Tarn has given us.” she said, and Chromia nodded obligingly.

“Of course, cityspeaker.” she touched over her spark as she bowed, and Windblade’s face settled into a cool disdain as she rose to her pedes.

“We should be docking shortly. Come, I’ll be expected to greet whoever Tarn has sent to receive us.” she gestured, and Chromia followed dutifully. One significant perk to the job, she had an _unparalleled_ view of Windblade’s aft.

\---

Chromia kept her back straight, arms loose at her sides, optics scanning as a Tarnian servant led Windblade to her quarters for the duration of this visit. She very deliberately did not let her hands curl into fists, or her field extend further than her armour. The Tarnian castle was reasonably well-guarded, but everything seemed aimed at keeping mechs out who weren’t supposed to be there. If they had anything to hinder a spy or assassin who managed to get past those measures, it was well-hidden enough she couldn’t pick it out. Unfortunately, the lack of security measures to analyse left far too much of her processing power open to wander wherever it pleased. Which, right now, meant she couldn’t stop dwelling on the glimpse she’d gotten of the secondforged Prince.

She knew the mechs of the royal family as well as Windblade did, though her files on them were focused more on physical capabilities than anything political. She knew which members of the house were servants, which were advisors, which were guards. The mech who’d been with Prince Deadlock’s had been listed as a guard, personal protector of the Princes before King Megatron stepped down and his firstforged became King, protected by the Royal Guard. So why in the name of Solus had he spent the entire celebration hanging on Prince Deadlock’s arm and smiling like a lovestruck fool? Her fingers twitched again, and Chromia forcibly stilled them. It was none of her business how Tarn handled their guards, and if the prince’s own personal guard, whose record had been impressive even by Camien standards, was so easily distracted? The regular ones could only be moreso. Their covert intelligence gathering would be easier than anything of the soart she’d had to do before.

“These will be your quarters.” the servant gestured at a door they’d stopped in front of, and Windblade gave a curt, dismissive nod. “There is a berth for your guard, as well. We understand you Camiens like to keep them close.”

“How thoughtful.” Windblade plastered on a patently fake smile, and the servant walked away as Chromia followed her into the room. It was well-appointed, a large and sturdy berth set against one wall and another taken up by nearly floor-to-ceiling windows, hung with rich red curtains which did brush the patterned floor. Chromia didn’t have much time to examine it beyond a quick scan for mics and cameras before Windblade was on her, rotorcaps discarded on the vanity and hands tight on Chromia’s upper arms. Her cityspeaker was strong, stronger than most assumed a femme of her frametype to be, and Chromia couldn’t help the rev of her engine as she was shoved against the wall next to the door.

Windblade slapped at the operation panel until it flashed red, locked, and Chromia chuckled as she raised her hands to cradle Windblade’s waist. “Eager?” she teased, and Windblade crushed against her in a searing kiss, riotous field a more thorough answer than any words could’ve been. Chromia loosed her own field, letting all her _adoration desperation lust_ flood it to match Windblade’s, and her lover moaned into her mouth, hands sliding around to grip the wheels behind her back.

“Berth, now.” she commanded as she pulled away, and Chromia grinned.

“Yes, ma’am.”


End file.
